


sooner or later you'll bury your teeth

by Byacolate



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Big Soft Men Afraid of Being Too Big and Not Quite Soft Enough, Drabble, Established Relationship, Eyeliner, Fluff, Gentleness, M/M, Marshmallow Adaar, Trust, and the Smaller Men who Love Them Tasked with Proving This Notion Erroneous
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-24
Updated: 2015-07-24
Packaged: 2018-04-10 22:07:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4409570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Byacolate/pseuds/Byacolate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Do not touch lest you break.</p>
            </blockquote>





	sooner or later you'll bury your teeth

The first time Dorian tries to broach the subject in his own roundabout way, Adaar goes dark from the tips of his ears to the back of his neck and lifts a hand quite suddenly to Dorian’s face. He follows when Dorian takes a short step back into his shelves. It comes as a surprise; Adaar has never once used his superior size to his advantage. It simply isn‘t in his nature to intimidate his people. Truth be told, Dorian wouldn‘t mind a little well-intended  _intimidation_ , but judging by the startled look on Adaar‘s face when he realizes he‘s backed Dorian into a corner, and the way he takes a hasty step back, that might take quite a bit of coaxing indeed.

 

It does not bode well for the request Dorian had been intending to make.

 

Adaar walks a precarious line he has drawn for himself between his desire for touch, and his fear of it - the fear for how he might fail, be it through harm or fright. It is one thing for Dorian to tell him that this worry is unfounded, for he has never feared Adaar; it is quite another to prove it. It does not help that Adaar has always known it to be so, being larger than the average southern Thedosian. _Do not touch lest you break._ Dorian has his work cut out for him, dissuading gentle Adaar of the scorn and trepidation of all the humans who’ve come before him.

 

Let it never be said that Dorian Pavus is not one to rise to a challenge.

 

He closes his eyes and tips his face up, leaning almost imperceptibly into the warmth of Adaar‘s wide palm. His eyes flutter closed for the briefest moment before he remembers that it quite defeats the point of this exercise. When he opens them again, there is a soft look - less than a smile, but achingly fond - that greets him upon the Inquisitor‘s face.

 

“ _Amatus_ ,” he hums, “this hesitation is so unlike you.”

 

Of course he must recognize it for the goading it is, and he responds - not to maintain his pride but because Dorian wills it, and what a frightening power that is to wield over someone so mighty.

 

Adaar‘s thumb swipes beneath Dorian‘s eye, close enough that he can feel the gentle brush of it against his eyelashes. Adaar stands high enough above him that Dorian can watch his face as he slowly drags the line of khol beneath his right eye, and allows himself to be moved at Adaar‘s will when he continues on to the right. There is focus on Adaar‘s face, single-minded and as intense in lining Dorian‘s eyes as he is when he leads them to battle, and isn‘t that a thought. 

 

As though Dorian needs to feel any more self-important by the Inquisitor‘s side.

 

“Shall I chastise you a little more for your unfounded fears?” he quips instead of confessing something tooth-achingly sweet, and closes his eyes when he is bidden so Adaar can line the upper lid.

 

”You can say whatever you like,” he is told, and he knows a smile when he hears it. Still, when the khol leaves his right eye, he peeks up from beneath his lashes before Adaar can move on to the left. “I doubt I could stop you, even if I wanted to.”

 

”Oh go on then, you know I’m a fool for your magnanimity, and all the rest of your… ways.”

 

“My ways.“

 

He‘s closed his eyes, but he can hear that smile again.

 

“You know the ones.”

 

A warm breath of laughter ghosts over Dorian‘s cheek. It smells of wine, sweet and floral and painfully Orlesian. But Dorian had asked for wine in jest, and as ever, Adaar seems inclined to be nothing if not indulgent. Even of Dorian. Particularly of Dorian.

 

“I‘ll leave the word games to you and Sera,” he says, and the moment he‘s finished his task, he presses his lips to Dorian‘s temple.

 

It will never cease to amuse him that the first qunari to have engaged him without intending to rip the still-beating heart from his chest has been the only to seize it.

 

”Oh no, do go on. You know how I love it when you get clever with me.”

 

”You‘re clever enough for the both of us.”

 

”You see, it‘s declarations like that that have your dear Mother Giselle so scandalized by my presence.”

 

Adaar draws his thumb below Dorian’s left eye, far enough not to smudge his masterpiece. ”I might be more inclined to believe that if you didn‘t insist on making vague innuendos about your tongue in her presence.”

 

”Now see here,” Dorian scolds, frowning up and up with his hands spread wide over Adaar‘s massive chest, “my innuendos are anything but vague, and I‘ll thank you not to claim them as such.”

 

He wonders sometimes if Adaar ever smiled much in the great Before. He would prefer to think that he doesn‘t do it much now out of habit, rather than circumstance. But that would be just as sad, wouldn‘t it - if he had known a life of little joy, even before this great catastrophe. Or if what joy he knew wasn‘t enough to make him smile. He likes Adaar‘s smile, the rare and beautiful creature it is. To be fair, he likes most anything to do with Adaar‘s lips; he likes the brave words that pass through them, and the feel of them when they touch his in the cozy little nook, and the way they look wrapped around his cock. He particularly likes the way they never fail to part the scantest inch and quirk at the corners when Dorian reverts to the old tongue, calls him _beloved_.

 

”You managed not to gouge out my eyes with your unpredictable strength,” he notes, fingers sliding up to curl around Adaar‘s neck. ”This is cause for celebration!”

 

”What would we be celebrating for, exactly?” Adaar asked, discomfort drawing his amusement away. 

 

”For exceeding one‘s expectations and laying to rest terrible fears, of course. Need we more reason? I think I shall fetch the wine.”

 

That‘s what Dorian says, but he has no real intention of moving from the heat of Adaar‘s body. Instead of reaching for the bottle, he takes Adaar‘s enormous hands and brings them to his neck. Clever man that he is, Adaar moves to cup the vulnerable expanse of skin, dragging his thumbs along Dorian‘s jawline like it must be something infinitely precious.

 

"Do me a favor,” he murmurs, and Adaar leans down obligingly to kiss him before he can even finish the request.

**Author's Note:**

> Inquire about fic requests [here!](http://wardencommando.tumblr.com/ask)  
> Title from “Monkey and Bear” by Joanna Newsom
> 
> If you are so inclined, feel free to follow [my Tumblr](http://wardencommando.tumblr.com/).


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